


The Lost Records of Skyhold

by LauraEMoriarty



Series: Tales from the Dragon Age [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Minor Injuries
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:46:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27198695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LauraEMoriarty/pseuds/LauraEMoriarty
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford
Series: Tales from the Dragon Age [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/784758
Kudos: 5





	The Lost Records of Skyhold

There were many inns dotted throughout Ferelden along the Imperial Highway. Taverns where weary travellers, hot and dusty from the road could find lodgings and food for the night. This particular tavern, a squat, square building with a straw-thatched roof and crumbling rammed earth walls smelled of unwashed, dusty travellers, stale alcohol, and chicken manure. The wooden pens and small stables in the back were full: goats, sheep, a few druffalo and horses munched contentedly from a manger piled high with green fodder, chickens scratching about in the leavings. A cockerel crowed, though morning had long since fled from the day, the sky awash with gold and pink and purple streaks as Niamh and Cullen’s horses stood patiently, waiting for their travellers to remove saddles.

Niamh’s throat felt like a thousand tiny knives, her arms covered in a million little scratches, red and stinging in the cool evening air. She swayed on her feet, hand gripping her horse’s reins to prevent her falling. She desperately wanted a hot bath, a warm meal, and whiskey to numb her aching throat. By the looks of this little inn, with the chimney sending a steady stream of smoke into the air, and the glowing lights in the oilskin-covered windows, it would provide two of those three items on her list of longed-for accommodation. How she missed Denerim, with hot water on demand, and the too-soft mattress now.

Cullen wrapped his arms around her waist, leaning his chin on her shoulder, and Niamh leaned into him, her hands settling on his, enjoying the moment where it was just them, just Niamh and Cullen. Cullen planted a soft kiss to the side of her neck, before he withdrew, turning to the horses.

“Go on in, I’ll see to the horses,” he said, and Niamh turned to face him, her smile broad.

She knocked on the door, and a corpulent landlady wrenched the door open, apron stained with what appeared to be blood.

“You need a room for the night?” she asked, taking in the dusty boots and filthy scarf Niamh wore.

“If it’s not too much trouble, yes,” Niamh answered, and the woman stood back to admit her. The smell of Fereldan lamb stew wafted in the air, and her stomach rumbled from hunger. They’d had a very brief lunch hours ago: bread and cheese, and salt-meat. She could do with a hot meal, so could Cullen.

“Come on in, then. A room, including a hip bath, will be three silvers, if you want your clothes washed, that’ll be a further silver,” the landlady said, ushering Niamh into the clean main room.

Herbs in bunches hung from the ceiling, a mabari lay across a rug in front of the fire, snoring loudly, occasionally grunting in its sleep. Removing her cloak, Niamh folded it over her arm as she followed the landlady, wrinkling her nose at the smell of unwashed bodies pressed together like herrings on a smoking rack, she was pleasantly surprised when the landlady removed a key from her chatelaine, and ushered her into a room.

“Thank you,” Niamh said, closing the door, handing the landlady her cloak. “I’d like to take you up on the offer for washing clothes, and the hot meal would be most welcome, as would a bottle of your finest whiskey.” She unwound her scarf from around her nose and mouth, handing the Highever weave scarf to the woman.

“Very well, milady,” the landlady said, taking scarf and cloak from Niamh. “Was there anything else?”

“No, I think that’s it,” Niamh said, as Cullen appeared behind the landlady, a saddlebag slung casually over his shoulder. She met his eyes, biting down on her lip.

The landlady waddled off as Cullen entered the room, setting the saddlebag down on the small washstand. He closed the door behind him, engaging the lock. Niamh turned to him, very aware of his presence, how he seemed to fill the room. She loved how _safe_ she felt in his company, protected and loved. She’d known only one other man in her bed, but that had been a lifetime ago.

It surprised her how much she _wanted_ Cullen, frightened her, even. That the intensity of those golden whiskey-coloured eyes was enough to set her aflame in need. That a tiny little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth was enough to have her drenched with desire, that the merest _touch_ of his hand on hers left her grinning like a fool for hours on end. That lying beside him in a bedroll when inns were few and far between, his fingers dipping between her legs, his other thumb brushing her hip…

She felt moisture beading between her legs at the thoughts going through her mind. Cullen’s hands rested lightly on her waist, tugging her to him. Niamh looked up at him, saw the quirk of his lips. She stood on her tiptoes, her arms snaking round his neck, brushing lightly against the longer locks of hair, loving how roguish he looked with slightly longer hair.

“Have I ever told you how good you look?” she asked him, smiling up at him. “How much I love your scent…. Your body?”

“Have I ever told _you_?” Cullen answered, lightly nipping at her lower lip, his finger brushing the curve of her cheek. “Have I told you the naughty, naughty things I want to do to you right now?”

“Tell me,” Niamh said, nodding as her hands reached for the buttons on his riding coat, sliding it off him. He let it fall to the floor in a puddle, neither of them seeming to notice the dust that floated off it. Cullen’s fingers grazed across her chest, his hands reaching for the buttons on her own coat.

“It starts with this,” he said, kissing her once more as he unbuttoned her riding coat, pushing it down off her shoulders and off her body entirely. Niamh giggled, before wincing in pain as the mending gash in her side tugged, and she put her hand to the wound, her other hand extending, resting on Cullen’s sternum.

“Stop,” she said, wincing. He did so, searching her face, worry lines around his eyes. His hand came up to cradle her face, his thumb brushing her cheek.

“Are you all right?” he asked, worried.

“My wound,” Niamh said. “I think I must’ve pulled something, it’s hurting a lot.”

“Let’s get you out of your clothes, and we can have a look,” Cullen’s voice was soft, concern etched between his brows.

“Commander, is this an excuse to see me naked?” Niamh raised her eyebrows, biting down the grin that wanted to burst from her. “If so, there are so many other excellent excuses for that.”

“You _were_ just complaining about your wound,” Cullen pointed out. “I’m simply offering to help you find out if it’s started hurting again.”

“Oh, I know that,” she said, unbuttoning her tunic. She tugged the garment off, Cullen’s hands helping once more as she untied the lacings of her chemise, letting the neck fall open. She saw the way Cullen’s eyes dipped to the valley between her breasts, how his Adam’s Apple bobbed as he swallowed. With little fanfare, she removed her chemise, glancing down at the nasty gash in her side.

Cullen reached behind her for the washer, dipping it into the clean water in the wash-stand, wringing it out before bringing the cloth down to her wound.

“It doesn’t look too bad, my light,” he told her. “The skin’s puckered around the scab, but it’s not inflamed.”

Niamh nodded. “It still hurts,” she said, choosing to be vulnerable with him, choosing to allow Cullen to see her wounded, fallible, _human_. She’d spent so long building up her walls, carefully schooling her face to neutrality when injured, learning how to pass unnoticed by templars.

“You _were_ gravely injured. It’s not surprising that it still hurts,” Cullen said gently, wiping down the wound. “But I’ve seen worse injuries done by swords. You were lucky that I’d loaned you my chain shirt.”

“It didn’t entirely stop me from being injured,” Niamh pointed out, but smiled as she said it, knowing she probably would’ve died without it. Cullen bent his head down over her wound, carefully inspecting it.

“Is it the puckering that concerns you, or the length of time it’s taken for it to heal?” Cullen asked, as Niamh reached behind her for the small box she kept in her riding jacket at all times.

“Both. Pass me my healer’s kit, please. There’s elfroot salve I compounded for these types of injuries— it helps lessen the sting,” she said, and Cullen found the little wooden box, sliding the lid off as he handed it to her.

Her fingers closed around the tiny round pot of salve, and prised the cork from the top. She brought it to her nose, making sure it hadn’t turned foul, and the smell reassured her that it hadn’t. A fingertip dipped into the salve, and she looked down at her wound, painting the spot with it.

“Does it feel any better now?” Cullen asked.

There was a sharp rap at the door, and Niamh pulled her chemise on once more. She giggled, her eyes dancing with mischief as the landlady called out.

“I’ve got yer food, and hot water fer yer bath,” the landlady said. She said nothing as she carried the tray of food, a boy lugging the heavy buckets of water into the room, taking in Niamh’s state of undress. Instead, she looked at the pot of salve, and then back at the two of them.

“Thanks,” Niamh said as the boy brought the tub into the room, bowing before them as he took his leave. She turned to Cullen, smiling.

“The water looks like it’s hot enough to scald a cat,” Cullen pointed out. “Should we eat first, wait for the water to cool down enough for a bath?”

“You forget I have magic at my disposal,” Niamh said, waving her hand at the buckets. “That should keep the water hot enough until we’re at satiety.”

Cullen nodded. He uncovered the tray, and Niamh saw the two bowls of stew, steam rising from them as he set the table for them. She was always amazed by how quietly efficient Cullen was, and she wondered whether he was as eager to have dinner over and done with as she was.

He pulled the small chair out for her, and Niamh sat, lifting her face up to his as he dropped a soft kiss on her lips, before pushing her in. He took his seat, picking up his napkin and laid it across his lap. She bit down on her lip to stop the naughty thoughts from intruding, but Maker, she was tempted.

“It’s still a fair ride till we’re home,” Niamh said, in between spoonfuls of hot, tasteless stew. The lack of spices compared to the stew they’d had in Denerim was glaring, but she was grateful for the food, grateful for a hot meal and a place to lay her head that wasn’t a bedroll on the ground, no matter how cushioned she was by Cullen’s large coat. “Another week, at least.”

“You’re going to be all scratched up by then,” Cullen said. “And are you feeling better tonight than you were this morning? You looked green around the gills.”

_So, he noticed then,_ Niamh thought, though she knew why she had been ill this morning. The mornings lately had all been the same: nausea that was chased off with raspberry leaf and ginger tea, and plain porridge. She wanted to tell him that she was pregnant, and yet the thought of getting Cullen’s hopes up only to be disappointed if her suspicions were wrong was too much to bear. But tonight wasn’t about that, tonight she wanted Cullen with a ferocity that surprised her.

“I’m much better tonight— and I will be fine tomorrow around noon, too,” she said. She chewed a piece of lamb, and grimaced. “I’m not sure this _is_ lamb,” she said. “Tastes too game-y for it to be lamb, and it’s tough, like whatever sheep this was was an orphan.”

Cullen chuckled. “I agree wholeheartedly,” he said. “We’re really becoming _quite_ picky about lamb stew, aren’t we?”

“Well, when most of what we eat _is_ lamb stew, I’d say our bar is set pretty high,” Niamh said, her eyes dancing with mischief. She extended her foot, gently stroking up past Cullen’s calf, and she watched as he gulped, his eyes widening. She bit down on her lip, stopping the smile that threatened.

“I think Flissa would be offended if we were to complain about her food,” Cullen said. “But this isn’t the nicest stew I’ve had, I’ve had worse.”

“Oh really?” Niamh raised her eyebrows as she broke off a hunk of bread. “You’ve had worse than this tasteless slop?”

Cullen nodded. “I was once invited to a house with a mage child, and the parents, so desperate to rid themselves of the child, but not wanting to appear rude by turning me out without supper, invited me in to eat with them. They were a wealthy family in Kirkwall, shamed by having a mage child—” he broke off as Niamh blanched. “Long story short, they attempted to serve lamb stew, but I’m sure it was sewer rat….”

“That story is terrible, on all fronts,” Niamh said. “But if that’s the worst stew you’ve ever had, consider yourself lucky— Dougal can’t cook to save his life— he _thinks_ he can, but he’s an awful cook. Everything is either too salty, or burned beyond recognition.”

Cullen laughed.

Niamh put down her spoon, deciding that any further mouthfuls of stew would leave her feeling Ill. The seductive pull of a hot bath lured her to the heavy buckets of water the landlady had hauled into their room. She pushed away from the table, and Cullen moved to join her.

Cullen’s hands ghosted along her shoulders, dropping a kiss on the nape of her neck. Niamh reached for his hands, holding them still for a moment, leaning into his embrace. She loved it when Cullen wrapped his arms around her from behind, drawing her close to him. She breathed a sigh of contentment, hugging his arms around her tightly.

“Let’s get you out of your dusty riding clothes,” she said, craning her neck up to look at him. “I mean, I’m already in my chemise…”

“Is this an excuse to see me strip?” he asked, releasing her from his arms.

Niamh turned to face him, her hands reaching for the ties around the neck of his shirt. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and how she loved that little private smile for her and her alone. She loved how tender his eyes were as she stripped him of his shirt, her eyes roving across his chest, seeing all the little scars from wounds she knew about. She kissed the point where a blade coated in spider venom had cut him, slowly getting down on her knees as she helped him out of his boots, and his pants.

The length of his cock sprung free from his pants, and Niamh swallowed, her thighs dampening with desire as she beheld it. It was a glorious thing; and she wanted it inside her. Wanted _him._ It surprised her sometimes, the desire she had for Cullen, the sheer aching need she’d never had with anyone else, the longing to spend all her nights with him in her bed, and no-none else.

On her knees, Niamh ghosted her fingertips along his cock, placing little kisses on the tip. Cullen’s hand slid through her hair, cupping her face as he got to his knees too, leaning in to kiss her gently. She smiled into the kiss, looping her arms around his neck as he tugged her chemise up her body.

“It isn’t fair,” Niamh pouted. “I don’t get a chance to pleasure _you_ , but you know how to pleasure _me_ ….” She giggled slightly, the stubble on Cullen’s cheeks rasped gently along her cheek.

“Would you like me to show you?” Cullen asked, and Niamh nodded, glad she could admit that her experience was vastly insignificant.

After all, she’d only had one other man in her bed. But that had been thirteen years and a whole lifetime ago. She was a different person now, a different woman. And the only man she wanted in her bed was Cullen, now, and forever. With him, it felt right, it felt…. She didn’t know _how_ else to describe it. But with Cullen, nothing else really mattered. She wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him once more.

“I’d like that,” she said softly, eyes meeting his.

Cullen smiled, the scar tugging at his lip as he did so. “But first, let me show you the things I wanted to do to you a dozen times over on the journey today. I kept thinking about the little sounds you make, the way your mouth falls open,” he touched his thumb to her lips, and Niamh bit down on it gently, the salt tang and the rosewater washing water mixing. One of his hands slid up her thigh, fingers questing between her folds, and Niamh gasped.

“A dozen times, huh? Are you sure you counted correctly? I caught you gazing at me rather longingly when we watered the horses… You could’ve had me at that stream, you know,” Niamh said. “You could’ve had me at that little copse when we stopped for lunch….” Her voice trailed off, Cullen’s lips meeting hers. She closed her eyes, her arms looping around his neck, the rasp of the stubble on his cheeks like that of a cat’s tongue.

Reclining on her elbows, the hearthrug soft beneath her, Cullen took one of her legs, licking along the inner side of it, his head dipping low to kiss the inside of her thigh, his hair lightly brushing against her quim, and Niamh bit her lip, her breath coming in short pants, her eyes closing as his mouth found the spot. Her hand raked through his hair, the other supporting her weight, and threw her head back, letting the sensations take over.

Cullen’s hands spread her legs wider, hooking them over his shoulder as his tongue delved into the most intimate part of her body. He licked her seam, tongue sliding against her clit, his fingers following, their path lighting her aflame. She wanted to let go— wanted to let her power unravel around her. She pulled it tight in her mind; this new thing between them too precious, too…. She couldn’t find the words to describe it. A burning, searing fire followed his lips, his fingers, his tongue, her hips rising and pushing against his mouth, Cullen’s grip tightening on her legs. Her breath came out in ragged gasps, one of her hands sliding through Cullen’s hair as her orgasm consumed her, and she came undone. Her eyes closed, hips bucking upwards as she rode the tide.

“Oh _Maker_ ,” Niamh breathed.

“I’m not the Maker,” Cullen said, a wicked smile crossing his face, eyes soft. “But, I _am_ a very lucky man.”

“I feel like the luckiest woman in the world when I’m with you,” Niamh said, as Cullen gathered her to his chest, kissing the crown of her head as she leaned back against him. “I _do_ wonder what the landlady would think if she heard us…. Although,” she paused as Cullen dropped a kiss behind her earlobe, “I find that I don’t particularly care…”

“Neither do I, my light,” Cullen said.

There was a freedom afforded to them in this small wayside tavern, a freedom that indulged them in their desires to just be man and woman, not the roles they both played within the Inquisition, or the world. Cullen’s thumb brushed Niamh’s wrist, the touch enough for her to turn her head and her other arm snaking round his neck to bring his mouth down on hers. And once more, the unfamiliar rush of longing, _wanting_ , speared through her. Desire burned in their kiss, their tongues touching, hands reaching. Cullen’s cock pressed against her back, the evidence of how much he wanted her in the hardness of it. Breaking away, breathless, Cullen slid her from his lap, standing.

“We won’t get any further than this if you continue kissing me like that,” Niamh said.

Cullen chuckled. “You have a point.”

He took her hand, raising her from the floor to lead her across to the bed, large and comfortable. She climbed onto the bed, and Cullen followed her. Niamh giggled as his hand reached around her waist, hauling her against him. He was hard, and _there_ , and a gush of wetness, the sensation of being wet a whole new thing, something that had rarely happened in her own moments of exploration, though those had been few and far between.

“Are you ready?” Cullen asked, settling them both on the bed, Niamh’s hand resting on his chest.

“Show me,” she said, as Cullen took her hand in his larger one, and guided it down to his cock.

She met his eyes, and then followed his gaze down to their hands, watching as her smaller one stroked his cock, the firmness of it like velvet-wrapped steel. For a moment, she just watched his hand guiding hers, her smile growing as she glanced up at Cullen’s face, saw his eyes closing, and the rise and fall of his chest. There was something quite erotic about this, she had to admit, being able to bring Cullen to this particular point, where the world fell away and there was only the two of them.

“That’s good,” he said, his breath tickling the shell of her ear, as his lips closed over her earlobe, tugging gently. His other hand stroked her cheek with a forefinger, a gentle caress that had her shivering with pleasure. “I like that.”

“I do too,” Niamh said. “I do love being able to have this much power over you…”

Cullen laughed, and Niamh giggled. “Careful, Niamh,” he teased. “People might think you’ve ensorcelled me.”

“And what if I have?” Niamh teased back. “Only we know the difference.”

“True,” Cullen’s eyes were warm as they met hers. “I mean, I’m already very much under your spell here…”

“Oh really?” Niamh said, her smile wide and open. She loved this man, she felt safe with him, sheltered and nurtured. In this relationship, it didn’t seem to matter that she wasn’t the most experienced in bed— nothing like that mattered with him. She placed a soft kiss to his chest, glancing upwards at Cullen’s face.

“Really,” Cullen said. “You could do whatever you wanted to me, and I would love it…”

“Careful, Cullen… you don’t know what I would do with that much power over you….” Niamh said, giggling again.

The smile that tugged at Cullen’s lips was a soft one. He raised an eyebrow. His fingers caressed the faded silvery marks on her belly, and Niamh wondered what he’d think when she told him, for she knew she had to, one day. Cullen leaned back against the headboard, and Niamh pouted for a moment.

“Stop, if you want this night to continue,” Cullen said, stilling her hands on his cock. “I’m close.”

“All right. What next?” Niamh said, looking down at his cock. She then angled her head up, and Cullen closed the space between them with his mouth on hers, the kiss one of pent-up longing and desire, and his fingers slid through her hair, cupping the back of her neck.

“Do you enjoy being on top?” Cullen asked as the kiss ended. He let his other hand slide up the inside of her thigh, and Niamh let out a little moan of pleasure.

Rising to her knees, she moved so her knees were on either side of Cullen’s thighs. He slid his hand through her hair once again, kissing her hard and rough, and Niamh moaned loudly as she reached for his cock, guiding it to her dripping, aching quim. She sank down slowly onto it, rocking her hips to angle his cock deep inside her.

“Does that answer your question?” Niamh met his eyes, the desire burning in her like a raging wildfire, every rock of her hips sending shivers of pleasure up her spine. Cullen’s hands came to rest on her hips, but seemed content to allow her to set the pace.

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen whispered, the words soft against the shell of her ear, and she loved the gentle shiver that ran down her spine as she continued rocking against him, his hands caressing her arse, his mouth dragging down the column of her throat. Every spot his mouth touched left a trail of fire that had her burning and aching and wanting.

The intensity of her desire for Cullen did not frighten her— the intensity of what they shared could never scare her. In his embrace, she felt loved, cared for, _desired_. Her arms looped under his armpits, her fingers lightly running down his back. Their mouths met again, eyes closing, his tongue touching the seam of her lips, as she opened to him, the kiss taking her breath away. Her fingers slid into Cullen’s hair, her other hand touching his neck, they continued rocking against each other.

“Can we stay here… like this… forever?” Niamh murmured, waves of pleasure cresting over her. In response, Cullen jerked his hips up, thrusting into her harder and faster, and she loved the pace he set. His hand reached between them, finding the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs, his thumb brushing it as she threw her head back, his head bending down to glide his lips against her neck, lingering in the junction between neck and shoulder.

“I’m not sure, my light, whether we should…. I’m so close,” Cullen’s voice sounded dazed, and Niamh smiled softly.

“Are you?” Niamh nipped at his lower lip, and he closed his mouth over hers, a hard, breathless kiss that left her dizzy and euphoric at the same time. She brought her hand between them, her fingers closing over Cullen’s as he stroked her clit, her other hand tufting in the hair at the nape of his neck. The kiss continued, until she dragged her mouth from his to bury it where his neck met his shoulder.

“Niamh,” Cullen breathed, shuddering as his release tore through him.

“Cullen,” Niamh echoed, throwing her head back as her own release flooded her. Cullen’s mouth dragged down the column of her throat, his tongue dipping into the hollow where her collarbones met. He kissed the rosy softness of her breasts, and Niamh leaned back, hand fisting in the sheets, the other curling into Cullen’s thigh. His cock twitched again inside her, and she smiled, biting down on her lip, rocking back against him, supported by his fingers digging into her arse, one in the cleft between her buttocks.

The sheets tangled between their legs, Cullen laid her down on the bed, withdrawing. Niamh pouted, and he laughed, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. He moved around the room, reaching for the cloth on the wash stand. Pulling the sheet up to cover herself for warmth, eyes lingering on his form, his strong legs muscular from years of daily drills, the flickering candlelight casting shadows over his biceps— the cleft of his arse, that scar on his back that he’d acquired recently, patched up by her, a nasty accident in the training ring. The candlelight hid the scars that crisscrossed his torso, one from a long time ago, the other more recent— a bruise over his coccyx now fading into yellow, the stories of how they had come to be there— she knew most of those.

She looked down at her own body, the silvery-faded stretch-marks from her first pregnancy, the new, long scar that ran from just below her right breast and terminated at her left hip still raw, but healing. Some mages used magic to heal those scars— but Niamh wore them proudly, the scar that ran along her pubis— she wondered how many of those old scars would fade. She looked back at Cullen, seeing him half in shadow as he dipped a rag into the pot hanging from the fireplace, wringing it out.

He came back to the bed, dropping a kiss on her forehead once more, kneeling down before her. She spread her legs, and the soft, warm washer against her quim wiped any evidence of their lovemaking away. Niamh loved how he seemed to enjoy this part of lovemaking too— the care he displayed towards her was new to her, but it only increased her desire for him. He was the only man she wanted in her bed, from now until the ending of the world.

Cullen gathered her into his arms a few moments later, curling himself protectively around her. Another thing she loved about him, about going to bed with him. The way he gathered her into his arms, the way he cared about her— it was easy to love the man in her bed. And love him she did.

“ _Tha gaol agam ort,_ _”_ Niamh whispered against his shoulder.

“What does that mean?” Cullen asked her, his voice sleepy.

“What do you think it means?” Niamh turned in his arms, her chin resting on his chest. She smiled broadly up at him, her eyes dancing with mirth.

“I’m not sure, but you could say it again,” Cullen said. “It sounds like a declaration of sorts…”

“You’re getting there,” Niamh said. “What sort of declaration?”

She couldn’t resist teasing him, and Cullen’s fingers dug into the side of her hip, firm and demanding. She grinned at his obvious erection pressing against her arse.

“I’m pretty sure you said you love me,” Cullen said, covering her mouth with his, and all thought of sleep was forgotten.


End file.
